
'^ tK^ W ^"^ 






,hdtnoiher^s Story 

of 

N K K PL. HI IL L 




XL 



Book 



(«I)yrigiitN»_il£l4i 



COniRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE CRANE CLASSICS 



GEANDMOTHER'S STORY 

OF 

BUNKER HILL BATTLE 



WITH BIOGRAPHY AND NOTES 
BY 



MARGARET HILL McOARTER, 

Former Teacher of Engliah and American Literature, 
Topeka High School. 



CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLI8HERS 

TOPEKA, KANSAS 

1904 






LIBRA.HY of OONG.SESS 
Two Copies Keceived 

DEC 7 15^04 

Cogyritrtii tntry 

CUSS O/ XXc No; 

COPY a. 



Copyright 1904, 

By Crane & Company, 

Topeka, Kansas 



^• 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB. 

Guide to the Study of Oliver Wendell Homes. . . 5 

..Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill 9 

•- Bill and Joe 22 

c The Last Leap 25 

^^ The Deacon's Masterpiece 27 

-' The Broomstick Train 82 

— ^A Song 39 

t Contentment 42 

^The Pilgrim's Vision 45 

Lexington 51 

^Old Ironsides 54 

yk^ Appeal for ' ' The Old South " 56 

^' K Ballad of the Boston Tea-Party 58 

1^' Union and Liberty 62 

V God Save the Flag '. 64 

-- Freedom, Our Queen 65 

v^ The Living Temple 66 

• The Chambered Nautilus 68 



A GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF OLIYEE 
WEI^DELL HOLMES. 



IMPORTANT FACTS OF THE LIFE OF HOLMES. 

Birth, Cambridge, Mass., August 29, 1809. Death, 
Boston, Mass., October 6, 1894. Literary ancestry: 
Father, Eev. Abiel Hohnes, who wrote the first American 
liistory, — American Annals. 

Education at Phillips (Andover) Academy and Har- 
vard College. Took his degree in 1829. 

Study of law for one year. 

Study of medicine, at home and abroad, taking degree, 
1836. 

First volume of poems published 1836. 

Chair of anatomy and physiology in Dartmouth College 
1838-1848; in Harvard, 1848-1882. 

Publication of the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," 
1858. 

Birthday Breakfast, 1879. 

Celebration of seventy-fifth birthday, 1874. Second 
trip to Europe, after fifty years, 1886. 

D. C. L. of Oxford, England, and LL. D. of Edin- 
burgh, 1886. 

Retired life in Boston. 

W^EITINGS OIT HIS OWN BIOGEAPHY. 

The Opening of the Piano. 
Dorothy Q. 

Poems on the Class of '29. 

(5) 



b THE CRAXE CLASSICS 

The Iron Gate — (on his seventieth birthday.) 
The School-Boy. 

First Chapter of The Poet at The Breakfast Table. 
A Family Record. 

SOME MEMBERS OF THE CLASS OF '29. 

James Freeman Clarke. 
Rev. S. F. Smith. 
George T. Davis. 
AVilliam Henry Channing. 
Judge B. R. Curtis. 
George T. Bigelow. 

SOME AMERICAN HUMORISTS. 

O. W. Holmes. 

Mark Twain. 

James Russell Lowell. 

John G. Saxe. 

Charles Dudley Warner. 

Washington Irving. 

SOME OF THE FRIEXDS OF DR. HOLMES. 

Charles Sumner. 
^STathaniel Hawthorne. 
H. W. Longfellow. 
E. P. AMiipple. 
James T. Fields. 
Henry Thoreau. 

THE SATURDAY CLUB, 

That first conceived the Atlantic Monlhli/. The name was given bv 

Dr. Holmes. Lowell Avas the first editor. 

Louis Agassiz. John L. Dwight. 

J. Eliot Cabot. R. \\. Emerson. 



STUDY GUIDE i 

C. C. Feltoii. H. W. Longfellow. 

O. W. Holmes. J. R. Lowell. 

E. R. Hoar. Edmund Quincy. 

Estes Howe. C. E. Morton. 

KEFERE^^CE BOOKS ON OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

American Literature (0. W. Holmes). E. P. Whip- 
ple, 1887. 

Poets of America. O. W. Holmes, E. C Stedman, 
1886. 

Ha If -hours with the Best American Authors. C. Mor- 
ris, 1886. 

iS'orth American Review: January, 1847; January, 
1849. 

LittelFs Living Age : January 6, 1849 ; March 17, 1849 ; 
October 8, 1853. 

]^orth British Review^, August-ISTovember, 1860. 

Macmillan's Magazine, August, 1861. 

OUTLINE OF MORE IMPORTANT WORKS. 
PROSE. 

Essay — BreoildsiSt Table Series, 1858, 1859, 18f3. 
Eomance — Elsie Yenner, The Guardian Angel, A 
Modern Antipathy. 

Memoir — John Lothrop Motley, Ralph Waldo Emer- 
son. 

7' ravels — One Hundred Days in Europe. 

POETRY. 

For Occasions — In Memory of Abraham Lincoln, Bry- 
ant's Seventieth Birthday, Bill and Joe, The Boys, Whit- 
tier's Seventieth Birthday, Welcome to Nations July 4, 
1876. 



8 THE CEA]S'E CLASSICS 

Tlie Beautiful — The Chambered Xautiliis. The Voice- 
less, The Living Temple, Homesick in Heaven. 

Humorous — The One-Hoss Shay, The Broomstick 
Train, The Last Leaf, The September Gale, The Height 
of The Ridiculous, A Farewell to xVgassiz, Contentment, 
My Aunt. 

Patriotic — Grandmother's Story of Bunker Hill Battle, 
Boston Tea Party, Old Ironsides, Lexington. 

[From "A Fable for the Critics."] 
*' There is Holmes, who is matchless among you for \vit ; 
A Leyden-jar always full charged, from wliich flit 
The electrical tingles of hit after hit; 

His arc just the fine hands, too, for weaving a lyric 
Full of fancy, fun, feeling, or spiced with satyric 
In a measure so kindly, you doubt if the toes 
That are trodden upon are your own or your foes'." 



GRANDMOTHER'S STORY OF BUNKER HILL 
BATTLE. 

AS SHE SAW IT FROM THE BELFKY. 

[The following poem -was written in 1875, for the Centennial cele- 
bration of the battle of Bunker Hill. The belfry tower must have 
been that of the New Brick Church, built in 1721, and rebuilt of 
stone in 1845. It w^as pulled down in 1871, to widen Hanover street. 
This is one of the best of the poems of Dr. Holmes, who Avas es- 
pecially happ}'^ in poems for special occasions. The little break in 
the thread of it, at the last, and change from simple narrative to 
the bit of tender romance, is very skillful and pleasing.] 

'T IS like stirring living embers wheiij at eighty, one re- 
members 

All the achings and the qnakings of '' the times that tried 
men's souls ; '' 

When I talk of Wldfj and Tory, when I tell the Rebel 
story, 

To yon the words are ashes, but to me they 're burning 
coals. 

I had heard the muskets' rattle of the April running bat- 
tle; ^ 

Lord Percy's hunted soldiers, I can see their red coats 
still ; 

But a deadly chill comes o'er me, as the day looms up be- 
fore me, 

When a thousand men lay bleeding on the slopes of Bun- 
ker's Hill. 

(9) 



10 THE CEAXE CLASSICS 

'T was a peaceful summer's niorning, wlien the first thing 

gave us warning 
Was the boomine: of the cannon from the river and the 

shore : 
'^ Chikl," says grandma, '' what 's the matter, what is all 

this noise and clatter ? 
Have those scalping Indian devils come to murder us once 

more ? " 

Poor old soul! my sides Avere shaking in the midst of all 

my quaking, 
To hear her talk of Indians when the guns began to 

roar : 
She had seen the burning village, and the slaughter and 

the pillage, ^^ 

When the Mohawks killed her father with their bullets 

through his door. 

Then I said, ^' Xow, dear old granny, don't you fret and 

worry any. 
Fur I '11 soon come back and tell you whether this is work 

or play ; 
There can't be mivSchief in it, so I won't be gone a 



For a minute then I started. I was gone the livelong 
day. ''' 



No time for bodice-lacing or for looking-glass grimacing; 
Down my hair went as 1 hurried, tund^ling half-way to 

my heels ; 
God forbid your ever knowing, when there 's blood around 

her flowing, 
How the lonely, helpless daughter of a (juiet household 

feels ! 



GEAXDMOTHEr's story OP" BUXKER HILL 1 1 

In the street I heard a thiuuping; and I knew it was the 

stumping ^® 

Of the Corporal, our old neigldjor, on the wooden leg he 

wore, 
With a knot of women round him, — it was lucky I had 

found him, 
So 1 followed with the others, and the Corporal marched 

before. 

They were making for the steeple, — the old soldier and 

his people ; 
The pigeons circled round us as we climbed the creaking 

stair, •^" 

Just across the narrow river — oh, so close it made me 

shiver ! — 
Stood a fortress on the hill-top that but yesterday was 

bare. 

Xot slow our eyes to find it ; well we knew who stood be- 
hind it, 

Though the eartliwork hid them from us, and the stubborn 
walls were dumb : 

jlere were sister, wife, and mother, looking wild upon 
each other, ^^ 

And their lips were white with terror as they said, the 

HOUR HAS COME ! 

The morning slowly wasted, not a morsel had we tasted. 
And our heads were almost splitting w4th the cannons' 

deafening thrill. 
When a figure tall and stately round the rampart strode 

sedately ; 
It was Prescott, one since told me; he commanded on 

the hill. *^ 



12 THE CKAXE CLASSICS 

Every woman's heart grew bigger when we saw his manly 
figure, 

With the banyan buckled round it, standing up so straight 
and tall ; 

Like a gentleman of leisure who is strolling out for pleas- 
ure, 

Through the storm of shells and cannon-shot he walked 
around the Avail. 

At eleven the sti*eets were swarming, for the red-coats' 
ranks were forming; ~ '*•' 

At noon in marchiug order they Avere moving to tlic 
piers ; 

How the bayonets gleamed and glistened, as we looked far 
doAvn, and listened 

To the trampling and the drum-beat of the belted grena- 
diers ! 

At length the men have started, Avitli a cheer (it seemed 

faint-hearted), 
In their scarlet regimentals, with their knapsacks on their 

backs, ^« 

And the reddening, rippling water, as after a sea-figlifs 



slaTightcr, 



Ivound the barges gliding onward blushed like blood along 
their tracks. 

So they crossed to the otlier border, and again they formed 

in order; 
And the boats came back for s(ddier^, came for soldiers, 

soldiers still: 



grandmother's story of bunker hill 13 

The time seemed everlasting to us women faint and fast- 
ing, — ^^ 

At last they're moving, marching, marching providly np 
the hill. 

We can see the bright steel glancing all along the lines 

advancing — 
^o\v the front rank fires a volley — they have thrown 

away their shot; 
For behind their earthwork lying, all the balls above them 

flying, 
Our people need not hurry; so they wait and answer 

not. ^<^ 

Then the Corporal, our old cripple (he would swear some- 
times, and tipple), — 

lie had heard the bullets whistle (in the old French war) 
before, — 

Calls out in words of jeering, just as if they all were hear- 

And his wooden leg thumps fiercely on the dusty belfry 
floor : — 

'' Oh ! fire away, ye villains, and earn King George's 
shillin's," '^ ^^ 

But ye '11 waste a ton of powder afore a ' rebel ' falls ; 

You may bang the dirt and welcome, they 're as safe as 
Dan'l Malcolm 

Ten foot beneath the gravestone that you 've splintered 
Avith your balls ! " ' 

In the hush of expectation, in the awe and trepidation 
Of the dread approaching moment, we are well-nigh 
breathless all ; '^ 



14 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

Thongh the rotten bars are failing on the rickety belfry 

railing, 
We are croAvding up against them like the waves against 

a wall. 

Just a glimpc^e (the air is clearer), they are nearer, — 

nearer, — nearer, 
When a flash — a curling smoke-wreath — then a crash — 

the steeple shakes — 
The deadly truce is ended ; the tempest's shroud is rended ; 
Like a morning mist it gathered, like a thunder-cloud it 

breaks ! ^^ 

O the sight our eyes discover as the blue-black smoke blows 

over ! 
The red-coats stretched in Avindrows as a mower rakes his 

hay; 
Here a scarlet heap is lying, there a headlong crowd is 

flying 
Like a billow that has broken and is shivered into spray. ^^ 

Then we cried, ^^ The troops are routed ! they are beat — it 

can't be doubted ! 
God be thanked, the fight is over!" — Ah! the grim old 

soldier's smile ! 
^' Tell us, tell us why you look so '( " (we could hardly 

speak we shook so), — 
^' Are they beaten ? Are they beaten ? Are they beaten ?" 

— "Wait a while." 

O the trembling and the terror ! for too soon we saw our 
error : ^^ 

They are baflled, not defeated; we have driven them back 
in vain ; 



grandmother's story of bunker hill 15 

And the columns that were scattered, round the colors that 

were tattered, 
Toward the sullen silent fortress turn their belted breasts 

again. 

All at once, as w^e were gazing, lo ! the roofs of Charles- 
town blazing ! 

They have fired the harmless village ; in an hour it will be 
down! ^' 

The Lord in Heaven confound them, rain his fire and 
brimstone round them, — 

The robbing, murdering red-coats, that would burn a peace- 
ful town! 

They are marching, stern and solemn; we can see each 

massive column 
As they near the naked earth-mound with the slanting 

walls so steep. 
Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, and in noiseless haste 

departed ? . ^^ 

Are they panic-struck and helpless? Are they palsied or 

asleep ? 

Xow ! the walls they 're almost under ! scarce a rod the 

foes asunder ! 
Xot a firelock flashed against them ! up the earthwork they 

will swarm ! 
But the words have scarce been spoken when the ominous 

calm is broken, 
x\nd a bellowing crash has emptied all the vengeance of 

the storm ! ^^^ 

So again, with murderous slaughter, pelted backwards to 
the water. 



16 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

Fly Pigott's rnniiing heroes and the frightened braves of 

Howe ; 
And we shout, ''At last they 're done for, it 's their barges 

they have run for : 
Thev are beaten, beaten, beaten ; and the battle 's over 

now!" 

x\nd we looked, poor timid creatures, on the rough old 

soldier's features, ^^^ 

Our lips afraid to question, but he knew what we would 

ask: 
''Xot sure," he said; ''keep quiet, — once more, I guess, 

they '11 try it — 
Here's damnation to the cut-throats!" then he 

handed me his flask. 

Saying, "Gal, you're looking shaky; have a drop of Old 

Jamaiky ; 
I 'm afeard there '11 be more trouble afore the job is 

done;" ''^ 

So I took one scorching swallow ; dreadful faint I felt and 

hollow. 
Standing there from early morning when the firing was 

begun. 

All through those hours of trial T had watched a calm clock 
dial, 

As the hands^ kept creeping, creeping, — they were creep- 
ing round to four, 

When the old man said, " They 're forming with their 
bagonets fixed for storming: ^^^ 

It 's the death-grip that 's a-coming, — they will try the 
works once more." 



gran-dmother's story of bunker hill 17 

With brazen trumpets blaring, the flames behind them 
glaring, 

The deadly wall before them, in close array they come; 

Still onward, upward toiling, like a dragon's fold uncoil- 
ing, — 

Like the rattlesnake's shrill warning the reverberating 

drum ! 

Over heaps all torn and gory — shall I tell the fearful 
story. 

How they surged above the breastwork, as a sea breaks 
over a deck ; 

How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our worn-out men re- 
treated, 

With their powder-horns all emptied, like the swimmers 
from a wreck ? 



It has all been told and painted; as for me, they say I 

fainted. 
And the wooden-legged old Corporal stumped with me 

down the stair : 
When I woke from dreams affrighted the evening lamps 

wer3 lighted, — 
On the floor a youth was lying ; his bleeding breast was 

bare. 

And I heard through all the flurry, '' Send for Warren ! 

hurry! hurry! 
Tell him here's a soldier bleeding, and he'll come and 

dress his wound ! " 
Ah, v/e knew not till the morrow told its tale of death and 

sorrow, 



18 " THE CRANE CLASSICS 

How the starlight found him stiffened on the dark and 
bloody ground. 

Who the youth was, what his name was, where the place 
from which he came was, 

AMio had brought him from the battle, and had left him 
at our door, 

He could not speak to tell us ; but H was one of our brave 
fellows, ^^^ 

As the homespun plainly showed us which the dying sol- 
dier wore. 

For they all thought he was dying, as they gathered round 

him crying, — 
And they said, " Oh, how they '11 miss him ! " and, '^ What 

luill his mother do ? " 
Then, his eyelids just unclosing like a child's that has ])eeu 

dozing. 
Ho faintly murmured, ^^^fother!'' and — T saw^ his 

eyes were blue. ^*^ 

— "Why, graudmn, how you're winking!" — Ah, my 

child, it sets me thinking 
Of a story not like this one. Well, he somehow lived 

along ; 
So we came to know each other, and I nursed him like a — 

mother, 
Till at last he stood before me, tall, and rosy-cheeked, and 

strong. 

And we sometimes walked together in the pleasant sum- 
mer weather ; ■^*' 



grandmother's story of bunker hill 19 

— '^Please to tell iis what his -.name was?" — Just your 
own, mv little dear ; 

There's his i:>icture Copley painted: we became so well 
acquainted, 

That, — in short, that 's why I 'm grandma, and you chil- 
dren are all here ! 

NOTES. 

Line 2. The quotation is from the first number of The Crisis, 
a tract issued regularly for some months during the Revolutionary 
War. The author was Thomas Paine. The Avhole of the quotation 
reads: "These are the times that try men's souls: the summer 
soldier and the sunshine patriot will in this crisis, shrink from the 
service of his country; but he that stands now deserves the thanks 
of man and woman." 

. 3. In 1679, during the last of the reign of Charles II., the terms 
Whig and Tory came into use. The Whigs stood for political and 
religious freedom; the Tories, on the other hand, represented the 
crown and the churchly ])ower. When the colonies of America re- 
volted, the \Mugs sympathized Avith them, the Tories opposed them. 
The terms were at once adopted in America. The Whigs wanted 
freedom. The Tories adhered to the king. The term rebel was ap- 
plied to the Whigs by the Tories. Later on, the terms Liberal and 
Conservative supplanted these. 

5. The April running battle was the battle of Lexington and 
Concord. The British beat a disorderly retreat to Charlestown, un- 
der the leadership of Lord Percy. 

IG. The Mowhawk Indians were the most dreaded of all the Six 
Nations northwest of New England. During Queen Anne's War 
they with the Frencli fell upon the frontier New England settle- 
ments, and the atrocity of their raids is still tradition in New 
England households. 

40. Colonel William Preseott, who commanded a portion of the 
fortification, was the grandfatlier of Preseott the historian. He had 
been sent to fortify Breed's Hill, on June 17, 1776. 

42. Banyan — a flowered gown worn by General Preseott in the 
hot weather. It is no wonder that with such unmilitary dress the 



20 THE CRAXE CLASSICS 

British soldiers should have held the Americans in slight esteem. 
It is true that he did carelessly stroll around the walls for the pur- 
pose of encouraging his men, 

62. The old French War was the French and Indian War of 
1755-1763, whereby the French lost possession of Canada. Many 
Revolutionary soldiers were veterans of this war. 

67. The author says of this line: "The following epitaph is 
still to be read on a tall gravestone standing as yet undisturbed 
among the transplanted monuments of the dead in Copp's Hill burial- 
ground, one of the three city (Boston) cemeteries which have been 
desecrated and ruined within my own remembrance : 

" Here lies buried in a 

Stone Grave 10 feet deep 

Capt. Daniel Malcolm ISIercht 

Who departed this Life 

October 23, 1769, 

Aged 44 years, 

A true son of Liberty, 

A Friend to the Publick, 

An Enemy to oppression, 

And one of the foremost 

In opposing the Revenue Acts 

On America." 

89. The burning of Charlestown was a characteristic act of 
cruelty on the part of the British ; but in the fortunes of war such 
things are a part. 

98. Firelock. The old-fashioned gun of the 18th century soldier. 

102. Howe, Pigott and Clinton were the generals commanding the 
English in this engagement. 

109. Old Jamaiky was Jamaica rum, a brand of unusual vigor, 
and much used at this time. 

110. Bagonets = bayonets. 

119. Compare this with Hugo's description of the Battle of 
Waterloo, in Les Miserahles: 

" Ney drew his sabre and placed himself at their head, and the 
mighty squadrons started. Then a formidable spectacle was seen: 
the whole of this cavalry with raised sabres, with standards flying, 
and formed in columns of division, descended, with one movement 
and as one man. with the precision of a bronze battering-ram opening 
a breach, the hill of Belle Alliance. . . . They ascended it, stern, 
threatening, and imperturbable; between the breaks in the artillery 



gi^andmother's stoky of Buxia>:R jitll 21 

and musketry fire, the colossal tramp could be heard. As they 
formed two divisions, they were in two columns. . . . At a dis- 
tance it appeared as if two immense steel lizards were crawling- to- 
Avard the crest of tlie plateau; they traversed the battlc-lield like 
a flash.'' 

129. Dr. Joseph Warien. a ])hysician and a patriot who fell in 
this battle, was one of the men whose death was most widely 
mourned and v\-hose loss was most deeply felt by the Americans. 

147. John Singleton Copley was born in America, in 1737, and 
died in England, in 1815. He was a famous painter of portraits, 
and painted the likenesses of many noted people about Boston. 



22 TiiE cka:xe classics 



BILL ANT) JOE. 

CoME^ dear old comrade, you and I 

Will steal an hour from days gone by, 

The shining days when life was new. 

And all was bright with morning dew, 

The lusty days of long ago, ^ 

When you were Bill and I was Joe. 

Your name may flaunt a titled trail 

Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail. 

And mine as brief appendix wear 

As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare; ^^ 

To-day, old friend, remember still 

That I am Joe and you are Bill. 

You 've won the great Avorld's envied ])rize, 

And grand you look in people's eyes. 

With H O ]S^. and L L. D. ^^ 

In big brave letters, fair to see, — • 

Your fist, old fellow ! off they go ! — 

How are you. Bill ? LIow are you Joe ? 

You 've worn the judge's ermined rol)e ; 

You 've taught your name to half the globe ; "*^ 

You 've sung mankind a deathless strain ; 

You 've made the dead past live again ; 

The world may call you what it will, 

JJut vou and I are Joe and Bill. 



BILL AND JOE 23 

The chaffing young folks stare and say, ^^ 

" See those old buffers, bent and gray, — 

They talk like fellows in their teens ! 

Mad, poor old boys ! That 's what it means," — 

And shake their heads; they little know 

The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe ! — '"^^ 

How Bill forgets his hour of pride. 

While Joe sits smiling at his side; 

How Joe, in spite of time's disguise. 

Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes, — 

Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill ^^ 

As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. 

Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame ? 

A fitful tongue of leaping flame ; 

A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust, 

That lifts a pinch of mortal dust ; 

A few swift years, and who can show 

Which dust ^^'as Bill and ^vhich was Joe ? 



The weary idol takes his stand. 

Holds out his bruised and aching hand. 

While gaping thousands come and go, — 

How vain it seems, this empty show! 

Till all at once his pulses thrill ; — 

'Tis poor old Joe's " God bless you. Bill ! " 

And shall we breathe in happier spheres 
The names that pleased our mortal ears; 
In some sweet lull of harp and song 
For earth-born spirits none too long. 



40 



45 



24 , THE cka:ve classics 

Tust whispering of the world below 
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe ? 

Iso matter; while our home is here ^^ 

aSo sounding name is half so dear; 

When fades at length our lingering day, 

VCho cares what pompous tombstones say ? 

Read on the hearts that love us still, 

lite jacet Joe. Hie jdcet BilL 



60 



THE LAST LEAF 



THE LAST LEAF. 

I SAW liiin once before, 
As lie passed bj the dour, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound, 
As he totters o'er the ground 

With his cane. 

They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruuing-knife of Time 

Cut him down, 
^ot a better man was found 
By the Crier on his round 

Through tlie town. 

But now he walks the streets, 
xind he looks at all he meets 

Sad and wan. 
And he shakes his feeble head, . 
That it seems as if he said, 

'' They are gone.'' 

The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has prest 

In their bloom, 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

My grandmamma has said — 
Poor old lady, she is dead 
Long ago — 



25 



15 



20 



25 



26 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. ^^ 

But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his chin 

Like a staff, 
And a crook is in his back. 
And a melancholy crack ^^ 

In his laugh. 

I know it is a sin 
For me to sit and grin 

At him here; 
But tlie old three-cornered hat *^ 

And the breeclies, and all that 

Are so queer ! 

And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring, *5 

Let them smile, as I do noAv 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 



THE DEACON S MASTERPIECE 



THE DEACOl^'S MASTEEPIECE; 

OE^ THE WONDERFUL " ONE-HOSS SHAY." 
A LOGICAL STORY. 

Have jou heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day, 

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 

I '11 tell you what happened without delay, 

Scaring the parson into fits. 

Frightening people out of their wits, — 

Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. 
Georgius Sccundus was then alive, — 
Snufi'y old drone from the German hive. 
That was the year when Lisbon town 
Saw the earth open and gulp her down. 
And Braddock's army was done so brown, 
Left without a scalp to its crown. 
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day 
That the Deacon finished "the one-hoss shay. 

N^ow in building of chaises, I toll you what, 

There is always somcwliere a Aveakest spot, — 

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill. 

In screv/, l)olt, thorouc'hbrace. — lurking still, 

Find it somewhere you must and will, — 

Above or below, or within or without, — 



27 



15 



28 THE CKANE CL^VSSICS 

And that 's the reason, beyond a doubt, ^^ 

That a chaise breaJiS doivn, but doesn't wea)' oat. 

Hut the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, 

AVith iui '^ I dew vum/' or an '^ I tell ycou") 

He Avould build one sha}' to beat the taown 

'n' the keountv 'n' all the kentrv raoun' ; ^'^ 

It should be so built that it couldn't break daown ; 

'^ Fur," said the Deacon, ^' 't 's mighty plain 

Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 

'n' the ^Y2iJ t' fix it, uz I maintain, 

Is only jest ' "'■' 

T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." 

So tlie Deacon inquired of the viUage folk 

Where he could find the strongest oak. 

That could n't be split nor bent nor broke, — 

That was for spokes and floor and sills ; ^^ 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills ; 

The crossbars were ash, from 'the straightest trees, 

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese. 

But lasts like iron for things like these; 

The hubs of logs from the " Settler's ellum," — ^^ 

Last of its timber, — they could n't sell 'em, 

I^ever an axe had seen their chips. 

And the wedges flew from between their lips. 

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; 

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, ^^ 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too. 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; 

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; 

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 



29 



Found in the pit when the tanner died. ^^ 

That was the Avay he " put her through." 

" There ! " said the Deacon, '' naow she '11 dew ! " 

Do ! I tell you, T rather guess 

She was a wonder, and nothing less ! 

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, ^^ 

Deacon and deaconess dropped away. 

Children and grandchildren — where were they ? 

But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 

As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day ! 

Eighteen hundred; it came and found ^^ 

The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 

Eighteen hundred increased by ten ; — 

" Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. 

Eighteen hundred and twenty came ; — 

Running as usual; much the same. "^^ 

Thirty and forty at last arrive, 

And then come fifty, and fifty-five. 

Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking queer. 

In fact, there 's nothing that keeps its youth, - 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large; 

Take it. — You're welcome. — 'No extra charge.) 



75 



First of ]N"ovember, — the Earthquake-day, — ®^ 
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, 
A general flavor of mild decay, 
But nothing local, as one may say. 



30 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

There could n't be, — for the Deacon's art 

Had made it so like in every part *^ 

That there wasn't a chance for one to start. 

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, 

And the floor was just as strong as the sills, 

And the panels just as strong as the floor, 

And the whipple-tree neither less nor more, ^^ 

And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, 

And spring and axle and hub encore. 

And yet, as a ivliole, it is past a doubt 

In another hour it will be ivorn out! 

First of November, 'Fif ty-flve ! ^^ 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 

N'ow, small boys, get out of the way ! 

Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 

" Huddup ! " said the parson. — Off Avent they. i'^^ 

The parson was working his Sunday's text, — 

Had got to fifthhi, and stopped perplexed 

At what the — Hoses — was coming next. 

All at once the horse stood still. 

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. ^^^ 

First a shiver, and then a thrill. 

Then something decidedly like a spill, — 

And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 

At half-past nine by the meet'ri'-house clock, — 

Just the hour of the Earthquake shock ! ^^^ 

W[\^i do you think the parson found, 

When he got up and stared around? 

The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, 

As if it had been to the mill and ground ! 



THE deacon's :mastekpiece 31 



You see, of course, if you 're not a dunce, 
How it went to pieces all at once — 
All at once, and nothing first, — 
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 

End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 
Logic is logic. That's all I say. 



115 



120 



32 THE CEAXE CLASSICS 



THE BEOOMSTICK TEAm; OE, THE EETUEN 
OF THE WITCHES. 

" Look here ! There are crowds of people whirled through our 
streets on these new-fashioned cars, with their witch-broom-sticks 
overhead, — if they don't come from Salem, they ought to, — and 
not more than one in a dozen of these fish-eyed bipeds thinks or 
cares a nickel's worth about the miracle which is wrought for their 
convenience. They know that without hands or feet, without horses, 
without steam, so far as they can see, they are transported from 
place to place, and that there is nothing to account for it except the 
witch-broomstick and the iron or copper cobweb which they see 
stretched above them. What do they know or care about this last 
revelation of the omnipresent spirit of the material universe? We 
ought to go down on our knees when one of these mighty caravans, 
car after car, spins by us, under the mystic impulse which seems 
to know not whether its train is loaded or empty. We are used to 
force in the muscle of horses in the expansive potency of steam, but 
here we have force stripped stark naked, — nothing but a filament 
to cover its nudity, — and yet showing its might in efforts that 
would task the working-beam of a ponderous steam-engine." — Over 
the Teacups, page 215. 

Look out ! Look out, boys ! Clear the track ! 

The witches are here ! They 've all come back ! 

They hanged them high, — 'No use ! No use ! 

AVhat cares a witch for a hangman's noose ? 

They buried them deep, but they would n't lie still, ^ 

For cats and witches, are hard to kill ; 

They swore they shouldn't and w^ouldn't die, — 

Books said they did, but they lie ! they lie ! 

A cou])l(' of hundred years, or so. 

They had knocked about in the world below, ^^ 

When an Essex Deacon dropy)ed in to call, 

And a homesick feeling seized them all; 



THE BROOMSTICK TRAIN 33 



For he came from a place they knew full well, 
And many a tale he had to tell. 
They longed to visit the haunts of men, 
To see the old dwellings they knew again, 
And ride on their broomsticks all around 
Their wide domain of unhallowed ground. 



15 



In Essex County there 's many a roof 

Well known to him of the cloven hoof ; ^^ 

The small square windows are full in view 

Which the midnight hags went sailing through, 

On their well-trained broomsticks mounted high, 

Seen like shadows against the sky; 

Crossing the track of owls and bats, ^^ 

Hugging before them their coal-black cats. 

• 

Well did they know, those gray old wives, 
The sights we see in our daily drives : 
Shimmer of lake and shine of sea. 
Brown's bare hill with its lonely tree, ^^ 

(Tt wasn't then as we see it now, 
With one scant scalp-lock to shade its brow;) 
Dusky nooks in the Essex woods, 
Dark, dim, Dante-like solitudes. 

Where the tree-toad watches the sin\ious snake ^^ 

Glide through his forests of fern and brake; 
Ipswich River ; its old stone bridge ; 
Far-off Andover's Indian Ridge, '"' 

And many a scene where history tells 
Some shadow of bygone terror dwells, — ^'^ 

Of " Xorman's Woe " with its tale of dread, 
Of the Screeching Woman of Marblehead, 
—3 



34 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

( The fearful story that turns men pale : 
Don't bid me tell it, — my speech would fail.) 

Who would not, will not, if he can, '^^ 

Bathe in the breezes of fair Cape Ann, — 

Rest in the bowers her bays enfold. 

Loved by the sachems and squaws of old ( 

Home where the white magnolias bloom. 

Sweet with the bayberry's chaste perfume, ^^ 

Hugged by the woods and kissed by the sea ! 

Where is the Eden like to thee ? 

!For that " couple of hundred years, or so," 

There had been no peace in the world below ; 

The witches still grumbling, ^' It isn't fair; ^^ 

Come, give us a taste of the upper air ! • 

We 've had enough of your sulphur springs. 

And the evil odor that round them cling-s ; 

We long for a drink that is cool and nice, — 

Great buckets of water with Wenhani ice; ®^ 

We 've served you well up-stairs, you know ; 

You 're a good old — fellow — come, let us go ! " 

I don't feel sure of his being good. 

But he happened to be in a pleasant mood, — 

As fiends with their skins full sometimes are, — ^^ 

(He'd been drinking with '^roughs" at a Boston bar.) 

So what does he do but up and shout 

To a graybeard turnkey, " Let 'em out ! " 

To mind his orders was all he knew ; 

The gates swung open, and out they flew. '^^ 



TIIIO BROOMSTICK TRAIX 35 

'' AVliere are our broomsticks ? " the ])eldams cried. 

''Here are your broomsticks/' an imp replied. 

'' They 've been in — the pLice you know — so long- 

They smell of brimstone uncommon strong; 

But they 've gained by being left alone, — "■'* 

Just look, and you '11 see how tall they 've grown." 

"And where is my cat ? " a vixen squalled. 

'* Yes, where are our cats ? " the witches bawled, 

And began to call them all by name ; 

As fast as they called the cats, they came: ^^ 

There was bob-tailed Tommy and long-tailed Tim, 

And wall-eyed Jacky and green-eyed Jim, 

And splay-foot Benny and slim-legged Beau, 

And Skinny and Squally, and Jerry and Joe, 

And many another that came at call, — ^^' 

It would take too long to count them all. 

All black, — one could hardly tell which was which, 

But every cat knew his own old witch ; 

And she knew hers as hers knew her, — 

Ah, did n't they curl their tails and purr ! '^'^ 

Xo sooner the withered hags were free 

Than out they swarmed for a midnight spree ; 

I couldn't tell all they did in rhymes, 

But the Essex people had dreadful times. 

The Swampscott fishermen still relate ^^ 

How a strange sea-monster stole their bait ; 

How their nets were tangled in loops and knotr^. 

And they found dead crabs in their lobster-pots. 

Poor Danvers grieved for her blasted crops. 

And Wilmington mourned over mildewed hops. i'*^' 



86 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

A blight played havoc with Beverly beans, — 

It was all the^work of those hateful queens ! 

A dreadful panic began at " Pride's/' 

Where tlie witches stopped in their midnight ride-^, 

And there rose strange rumors and vague alarms ^'^"' 

'^lid the peaceful dwellers at Beverly Farms. 

Xow when the Boss of the Beldams found 

That without his leave they were ramping round, 

He called, — they could hear him twenty miles, 

From Chelsea beach to the Misery Isles; ^^^ 

The deafest old granny knew his tone 

Without the trick of the telephone. 

'^ Come here, you witches ! Come here ! " say^ ho, — 

"At your games of old, without asking me ! 

I'll give you a little job to do ^^^ 

That will keep you stirring, you godless crew ! '' 

They came, of course, at their master's call. 
The witches, the broomsticks, the cats, and all ; 
. He led the hags to a railway train 

The horses were trying to drag in vain. ^^" 

" ]^ow, then," says he, '^ you 've had your fun. 

And here are the cars you've got to run. 

The driver may just unhitch his team. 

We don't want horses, we don't want steam ; 

You may keep your old black cats to hug, ^^^ 

But the loaded train you've got to lug." 

Since then on many a car you'll see 
A ])room stick plain ns plain can be; 



37 



135 



140 



TliP] BROOMSTICK TRAIN 

On every stick there 's a witch astride, — 

The string you see to her leg is tied. 

Slie will do a mischief if she can, 

But the string is held by a careful man, 

And whenever the evil-minded witch 

Would cut some caper, he gives a twitch. 

As for the hag, you can't see her. 

But hark ! you can hear her black cat's purr. 

And now and then, as a car goes by. 

You ma V catch a ffleam from her wicked eve. 

Often you 've looked on a rushing train, 
Rut just Avhat moved it was not so plain. 
It couldn't be those wires above. 
For they neither could pull ncr shove ; 
AVliere was the motor that made it go 
You couldn't guess, hut now you know. 

Remember my rhymes when you ride again 
On the rattling rail by the broomstick train ! 



Line 34. Dante-like. Dante, author of The Inferno, A\;as an 
Italian poet of the latter half of the 13th century. His work is 
noted for its gloomy and awful pictures of the future life. 

41. See Longfellow's Wreck of The Hesperus: 

" Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow; 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's woe." 

42. See Whittier's Skipper Ircson's Ride: 

" Scores of women old and j'oung, 

Strong of muscle and glib of tongue, 

Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, , 



145 



38 THE CEANE CLASSICS 

Shouting and swinging the shrill refrain, * 

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips. 

With concii-shclls blowing and fish-horn's twang, 
Over and over the Moenads san.a,'' 



A SONG 39 



A SOXG. 

FOR THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF HARVARD COL- 
LEGE^ 1836. 

[Plarvard College was established in 1636, by the General Court 
(Legislature), of Massachusetts,- £400 being voted for this pur- 
pose. The village where it was located was first called Newtown. 
In 1638 its name was changed to Cambridge, and the next year the 
name of the school was made Harvard College, after the Rev. John 
Harvard. He was a Charlestown minister, wTio died in 1638, leav- 
ing his library of three hundred or more volumes and £780 to the 
institution. 

The work began in the college in 1638, under Nathaniel Eaton. 
There were nine young men in the first class, who graduated in 1642. 
Rev. Henry Dunster was the first president.] 

When the Puritans came over, 

Our hills and swamps to clear, 
The woods were full of catamounts, 

And Indians red as deer. 
With tomahawks and scalping-knives, ^ 

That make folks' heads look queer ; — 
Oh, the ship from England used to bring 

A hundred wigs a year ! 

The crows came cawing through the air 

To pluck the Pilgrims' corn, ^^ 

The bears came snuffing round the door 

' ^Vhene'er a babe was born, 

The rattlesnakes were bigger round 
Than the butt of the old ram's horn 

The deacon blew at meeting-time ^^ 

On every " Sabbath " morn. 



so 



40 Tin: CEANE CLASSICS 

But soon tliey knocked the wigwams down, 

And pine-tree trunk and limb 
JJegan to sprout among the lea\'es 

In shape of steeples slim ; 
And out the little wharves were stretched 

Along the ocean's rim, 
And up tlie little school-house shot 

To keep the boys in trim. 

And Avhen at length the College rose, 

The sachem cocked his eye 
At every tutor's meagre ribs 

Whose coat-tails whistled by : 
But when the Greek and Hebrew words 

Came tumbling from his jaws, 
The copper-colored children all 

Ran screaming to the squaws. 



And who was on the Catalogue 

When college was begun ? 
Two nephews of the President, ^^ 

And the Professor's son; 
(They turned a little Indian by, 

As brown as any bun;) 
Lord ! how the seniors knocked about 

The freshman class of one ! ' *^ 

They had not then the dainty things 

That commons now afford, 
But succotash and hominy 

Were smoking on the board; 



A SONG 41 

Tliey did not rattle round in gigS, "^^ 

Or dash in long-tailed blues, 
But always on Commencement days 

The tutors blacked their shoes. 

God bless the ancient Puritans ! 

Their lot was hard enough ; ^^ 

But honest hearts make iron arms, 

And tender maids are tough ; 

So love and faith have formed and fed 

Our true-born Yankee st.uff, 
And keep the kernel in the shell ^^ 

The British found so rough! 



42 THE CRANE CLASSICS 



conte:n^tme:n"t. 

" Man wants but little here below." 

Little I ask; mj wants are feAv; 

I only wish a hut of stone, 
(A very 'plain bro^^ni stone will do,) 

That I may call my own ; — 
And close at hand is such a one, ^ 

In yonder street that fronts "the sun. 

Plain food is quite enough for me ; 

Three courses are as good as ten ; — 
If N^ature can subsist on three. 

Thank Heaven for three. Amen ! ^^ 

I always thought cold victual nice ; — 
My choice would be vanilla-ice, 

I care not much for gold or land ; — 
Give me a mortgage here and there, — 

Some good bank-stock, some note of hand, ^^ 

Or trifling railroad share, — 

I only ask that Fortune send 

A little more than I shall spend. 

Honors are silly toys, I know. 

And titles are but empty names; 20 

I would, perhaps, be Plenipo, — 

But only near St. James.; 
I 'm very sure I should not care 
To fill our Gubernator^s chair. 

Jewels are baubles ; 't is a sin 25 

To care for such unfruitful things; 



COXTEXTMENT 43 

One good-sized diamond in a pin, — 

Some, not so large, in rings, — 
A ruby, and a pearl, or so. 
Will do for me ; — I laugh at show. ^^ 

My dame should dress in cheap attire ; 

(Good, heavy silks are never dear;) 
I own perhaps I might desire 

Some shawls of true Cashmere, — 
Some marrowy crapes of China silk, ^^ 

Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. 

I would not have the horse I drive 

So fast that folks must stop and stare ; 

An easy gain — two, forty-five — 

Suits me ; I do not care ; — ^^ 

Perhaps, for just a smgle spurt. 

Some seconds less would do no hurt. 

Of pictures, I should like to own 

Titians and Raphaels three or four, — 

I love so much their style and tone, — ^^ 

One Turner, and no more, 

(>A landscape, — foreground golden dirt, — 

The sunshine painted with a squirt.) 

Of books but few, — some fifty score 

For daily use, and bound for wear; ^^ 

The rest upon an upper floor ; — 
Some little luxury there 

Of red morocco's gilded gleam 

And vellum rich as country cream. 



44: THE CIlA^sE CLASSICS 

Busts, caincos, gems, — sueli tliiiii>s as tliese, ^^ 
AVliieh otliers often show for pride, 

I value for their poAver to please, 
And selfish churls deride; 

Oiie Stradi\'ai"ius, I confess, 

Tico meerschaums, I would fain possess. ^^ 

AVealth's wasteful tricks I will not learn, 
Xor ape the glittering upstart fool ; — 

Shall not carved tahles serve nij turn. 
But all must be of buhl? 

Give grasping pomp its double share, — • 

I ask but one recumbent chair. 



65 



Thus humble let me live and die, 
I^or long for Midas' golden touch ; 

If Heaven more generous gifts deny, 
I shall not miss them much, — 

Too grateful for the blessing lent 

Of simple tastes and mind content ! 

NOTES. 

LiXE 21, Plenipotentiary. Ministers to foreign countries from 
the United States, not doing the work of the regular ambassador or 
minister. 

22, St. James. From the rule of William III. to the time of 
Victoria, St. James palace was the residence of the British sovereign. 
Since Victoria's time, Buckingham palace has been the home of the 
royal family. 

44. Titian and Raphael. Famous Italian artists, noted for 
painting pictures of religious topics. Raphael's Madonnas are 
masterpieces of coloring. 

59. Stradivarius — Maker of the famous Cremona Aiolin ; lived in 
Italy (1649-1737). His instruments now bring enormous sums 
of money. One is said to have been sold for ^2,000. 



THE PILGRIM R VISIOrvT. 



THE PILGEBI'S VISIOX 

[In this poem, as well as in others by tlie same writer, distinc- 
tion is made between the PiUjrim and the Purit<tn. The former 
settled at Plymouth ; the latter at Boston. The Pilgrims believed in 
an entire separation of Church and State; the Puritans believed that 
the Church should be under control of the law; that heresies should 
be punished by t!ie civil magistrates.] 

liST the hour of twilight shadows 

The pilgrim sire looked out ; 
He thought of the ^' bloudv Salvages " 

That lurked all rouud aljout, 
Of Wituwamet's knife , ^ 

And Pecksuot's whooping shout; 
For the baby's limbs were feeble, 

Though his father's arms were stout. 

His home Avas a freezing cal)in, 

Too bare for the hungry rat, ^° 

Its roof was thatched with ragged grass, 

And bald enough of that ; 
The hole that served for casement 

Was glazed with an ancient hat; 
And the ice was gently thawing ^^ 

From the log whereon he sat. 

Along the dreary landscape 

His eyes went to and fro, ^ 
The trees all clad in icicles. 

The streams that did not flow; 
A sudden thought flashed o'er him, — 

A dream of long ago, — 



20 



40 THE CRAlSrE CLASSICS 

Ho smote liis leiitliern jorkin, 
And murmiirodj "Even so!'' 

" Come hitlier, Gocl-be-Glorified, 

And sit upon my knee, 
Tjeliold the dream unfolding, 

A\niereof I spake to thee 
By tlie winter's liearth in Levden 

.Vnd on the stormy sea ; 
True is the dream's beginning, — 

So may its ending be ! 

" I saw in the naked forest 

Our scattered remnant cast, 
A screen of shivering branches • 

Between them and the blast ; 
The snow was falling round them, 

The dying fell as fast ; 
I looked to see them perish. 

When lo^ the vision passed. 

'^\gain mine eyes were opened ; — 

The feeble had waxed strong, 
Tlie babes had grown to sturdy men, 

The remnant was a throng ; 
By shadowed lake and winding stream, '*^ 

And all the shores along, 
Tlie h(g\ding demons quaked to hear 

The Christian's godly song. 

" They slept, — the village fathers, — 

By river, hike, and shore, ^^ 



40 



THE pilgrim's vision. 47 

When far adowii tlie steep of Time 

Tlie vision rose once more : 
I saw along the winter snow 

A spectral colnmn ponr, 
And high ahove their broken ranks ^^ 

A tattered flag they bore. 

'' Their Leader rode before them, 

Of bearing calm and high, 
The light of Heaven's own kindling 

Throned in his awfnl eye ; ^^ 

These were a Nation's champions 

Her dread appeal to try ; 
' God for the right ! ' I faltered, 

And lo^ the train passed by. 

"Once more, — the strife is ended, ^^ 

Tlie solemn issue tried, 
The Lord of Llosts, his mighty arm 

Has helped our Israel's side ; 
Gray stone and grassy hillock 

Tell where our martyrs died, * '^^ 

But peaceful smiles the harvest, 

And stainless flows the tide. 

"A crash, as when some swollen cloud 

Cracks o'er the tangled trees ! 
With side to side, and spar to spar,--' "^^ 

Whose smoking decks are these? 
T know St. George's blood-red cross, 

Tliou Mistress of the Seas, 



85 



48 THE CRANE CLASSICS^ 

But wliat is she, whose streaming bars 

Eoll out liefore the breeze ? ^^ 

''Ah, well her iron ribs are knit, 

Whose thunders strive to quell 
The bellowing throats, the blazing lips, 

That pealed the Armada'^ knell 1 
The mist was cleared, — a wreath of stars 

Rose o'er the crimsoned swell, 
And, wavering from its haughty peak, 

The cross of England fell ! 

'' O trembling Faith ! though dark the morn, 

A heavenly torch is thine ; ^'^ 

Wliile feebler races melt away, 

And paler orbs decline, 
Still shall the fiery pillar's ray 

.Vlong thy pathway shine, 
To light the chosen tribe that sought ^^' 

This Western Palestine! 

'' I see the living tide roll on ; 

It crowns ^\■ith flaming towers 
The icy capes of Labrador, 

The Spaniard's 'land of flowers'! ^'^^ 

It streams beyond the splintered ridge 

That parts the northern showers; 
From eastern rock to sunset wave 

The Continent is ours ! " 

lie ceased, — the grim old soldier-saint, — ^^^ 

Then softlv bent to cheer 



THE PILGRIM''s VISIOTT. 49 

The Pilgrim-child, whose wasting face 

Was meekly turned to hear; 
And drew his toil-worn sleeve across, 

To brush the manly tear ^^^ 

From cheeks that never chaTie:ed in woe, 

And never l)lanched in fear. 

The weary Pilgrim slumbers, 

His resting-place unknown ; 
His hands were crossed, his lips were closo-l, ^^^ 

The dust was o'er him strown ; 
The drifting soil, the mouldering leaf, 

Along the sod were blown ; 
His mound has melted into earth. 

His memory Tives alone. ^*^^ 

S(^ let it live unfading, 

The memory of the dead, 
Long as the pale anemone 

Spring where their tears were shed. 
Or, raining in the summer's wind 

In flakes of burning red. 
The wild rose sprinkles with its leaves 

The turf where once thev bled ! 



Yea, when the frowning bulwarks 
That guard this holy strand 

Have sunk beneath the trampling surge 
In beds of sparkling sand. 

While in the waste of ocean 
One hoary rock shall stand. 



125 



130 



50 THE CRAT^E CLASSICS 

Be this its latest legend, — * ^^^ 

Heee was the Pilgrim's laiv^d! 

NOTES. 

Line 25. The Puritans gave their children either proper names 
from the Bible or religious phrases or sentences, as: Fear-the-Lord, 
Love-Thou, Praise-the-Lord. 

84. The Spanish Armada was a fleet that came against the British 
navy during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The battle lasted seven 
days, and resulted in the utter rout of the Spanish. 

99-100. The addition of Alaska and the Hawaiian Islands and 
Costa Rica more than fulfills this prophecy. 



LEXINGTOIT 51 



lexi:ntgto:nt. 

[On the greensward in the park at Lexington there lies a huge 
boulder. On one side of it are cut the words: *' Line of the Mimite 
Men, April 19, 1775. Stand your ground. Don't fire unless fired 
upon. But if they mean to have a war, let it begin here."] 

Slowly the mist o'er the meadow was creeping, 

Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun, 
When from his couch, while his children were sleeping, 
Kose the bold rebel and shouldered his gun. 

Waving her golden veil ^ 

Over the silent dale. 
Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire ; 
Hushed was his parting sigh. 
While from his noble eye 
Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's -fire. ^^ 

On the smooth green where the fresh leaf is springing 

Calmly the first-born of glory have met; 
Hark! the death-volley around them is ringing I 
Look! with their life-blood the young grass is wet! 

Faint is the feeble breath, ^^ 

Murmuring low in death, 
'' Tell to our sons how their fathers have died ; " 

Nerveless tlie iron hand. 

Raised for its native land, 
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side. -"^ 

Over tlie hillsides the wild knell is tolling. 
From their far hamlets the veomanrv come; 



52 THE CEANE CLASSICS 

As through the storm-clouds the thimder-biirst rolling, 
Circles the beat of the mustering drum. 

Fast on the soldier's path 

Darken the waves of wrath, 
Long have they gathered and loud shall they fall ; 

Eed glares the musket's flash, 

Sharp rings the rifle's crash, 
Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall. 

Gayly the plume of the horseman was dancing, 

IN^ever to shadow his cold brow again ; 
Proudly at morning the war-steed was prancing, 
Eeeking and panting he droops on the rein ; 

Pale is the lip of scorn, 

Voiceless the trumpet horn. 
Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high ; 

Many a beltell breast 

Low on the turf shall rest. 
Ere tlie (hirk liiiiiters the herd have passed by. 

Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving, 
Ttocks where the weary floods murmur and wail. 
Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving, 
Keeled with the echoes that rode on the gale; 

Far as the tempest thrills 

Over the darkened hills, 
Far as the sunshine streams over the plain. 

Roused by the tyrant band, 

AYoke all tlie mighty land, 
Girded for battle, from mountain to main. 



50 



LEXINGTON 53 

Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying! 
Shroudless and tombless they sunk to their rest, 
While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying 

Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest. 

Borne on her Northern pine, ^^ 

Long o'er the foaming brine 
Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun ; 

Heaven keep her ever free, 

Wide as o'er land and sea 
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won ! 



54 THE CEAISTE CLASSICS 



OLD lEONSIDES. 

[In 1797, the frigate Constitution was launched from what is 
now called Constitution wharf, at Boston harbor. The ship was 
built to stop the attacks of the Algerine corsairs on our merchant 
marine. She was named Old Ironsides after her exploits in the 
Mediterranean in 1803. The ship gained her fame by her achieve- 
ments during the War of 1812. 

In 1834 she was thoroughly overhauled in the dry dock at the 
Charlestown navy yard. At the beginning of the Civil War she was 
in use as a schooling-ship at Annapolis, Md. In 1881 she was put 
out of commission from the Brooklyn navy yard and sent as a re- 
ceiving-ship to Portsmouth, X. H. In 1897 she was brought to Bos- 
ton to celebrate the one-hundredth anniversary of her launching. 

The occasion for the writing of this poem was the proposition to 
break up the frigate Constitution. The effect of the poem was to 
create such a popular feeling that the ship was saved.] 

Ay^ tear her tattered ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 
And many an eye has danced to see 

That banner in the sky ; 
Beneath it rung the battle-shout, ^ 

And burst the cannon's roar ; — 
The meteor of th" (■(■"•ni air 

Shall sweep liic don Is no more. 

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood; 

Where knelt the vanquished foe, *^ 

When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, 

And waves were white below, 
No more shall feel the victor's tread. 

Or know the conquered knee ; 
The harpies of the shore shall pluck **^ 

The eagle of the sea ! 



OLD IRONSIDES 55 

Oh, better that her shattered hulk 

Should sink beneath the wave; 
Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 

And there should be her grave. ^^ 

ISTail to the mast her holv flaii', 

Set every threadbare sail. 
And give her to the god of storms, 

The lightning and the gale ! 



56 THE CEAT^E CLASSICS 



AN APPEAL FOR " THE OLD SOUTH." 

"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand; 
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall." 

[The oldest church in Boston is the Old South meeting-house, 
built in 1730, at the corner of Washington and Milk streets. In 1775 
the British army used it for a cavalry riding-schooi, and had a 
grogshop in the lower gallery. In 1876 the building was sold, to be 
torn down and replaced by other structures. Some public-spirited 
citizens bought the house and ground for $430,000, and put the 
property in the hands of the Preservation Committee. It is now 
full of historic relics, and is open daily. A fee of 25 cents is charged 
for admission. This fee goes to the Preservation fund.] 

Full sevenscore years our city's pride — 

The comely Southern spire — 
Has cast its shadow and defied 

The storm, the foe, the fire ; 
Sad is the sight our eyes behold ; ^ 

Woe to the three-hilled town, 
When through the land the tale is told — ■ 

'' The brave ' Old South ' is down ! " 



Let darkness blot the starless dawn 

That hears our children tell, 
^' Here rose the walls, now wrecked and gone, 

Our fathers loved so well; 
Here, while his brethren stood aloof, 

The herald's blast was blown 
That shook St. Stephen's pillared roof 

And rocked King George's throne ! 

^' The home-bound wanderer of the main 
• Looked from his deck afar, 



10 



15 



AN" APPEAL FOR " THE OLD SOUTH." 57 



20 



To where the gilded, glittering vane 

Shone like the evening star, 
And pilgrim feet from every clime 

The floor with reverence trod, 
Where holy memories made sublime 

The shrine of Freedom's God ! " 

The darkened skies, alas ! have seen 25 

Our monarch tree laid low, 
And spread in ruins o'er the green. 

But ISTature struck the blow; 
'No scheming thrift its downfall plannc.], 

It felt no edge of steel, so 

No soulless hireling raised his hand 

The deadly stroke to deal. 

In bridal garlands, pale and mute, 

Still pleads the storied tower; 
These are the blossoms, but the fruit ^^ 

Awaits the golden shower; 
The spire still greets the morning sun, — 

Say, shall it stand or fall ? 
Help, ere the spoiler has begun ! 

Help, each, and God help all ! ^^ 

NOTES. 

Line 6. Three-hilled = Beacon Hill, Fort Hill, and Copp's Hill. 
Fort Hill is now removed. 

15. During the time of the Revolution the meetings of Parliament 
were held in St. Stephen's Hall. 

26. The old elm on Boston Common, the oldest tree in New Eng- 
land. In 1860 a branch broken off by a storm showed 200 rings. 
The tree was blown down in 1876. 



58 - THE CEAXE CLASSICS 



BALLAD OF THE BOSTOjS^ TEA-PAKTY. 

1^0 1 never such a draught was poured 

Since Hebe served with nectar 
The bright Olympians and their Lord, 

Her over-kind protector, — 
Since Father ^N^oah squeezed the grape ^ 

And took to such behaving 
As would have shamed our grandsire ape 

Before the days of shaving, — 
Xo ! ne'er was mingled such a draught 

Tn palace, hall, or arbor, ^^. 

As freemen brewed and tyrants quaffed 

That night in Boston Harbor ! 
It kept King George so long awake 

His brain at last got addled, 
It made the nerves of Britain shake, ^' 

With sevenscore millions saddled; 
Before that bitter cup was drained. 

Amid the roar of cannon. 
The Western war-cloud's crimson stained 

The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon; ^o 

Full many a six-foot grenadier 

The flattened grass had measured, 
And many a mother many a year 

Her tearful memories treasured; 
Fast spread the tempest's darkening pall, ^^ 

The mighty realms were troubled. 
The storm broke loose, but first of all 

The Boston teapot bubbled! 



THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY 59 

An evening party, — only that, 

'Ko formal invitation, ^^ 

]^o gold-laced coat, no stiff cravat, 

'No feast in contemplation, 
No silk-robed dames, no fiddling band, 

No flowers, no songs, no dancing, — 
A tribe of Red men, axe in hand, — ^^ 

Behold the gnests advancing ! 
How fast the stragglers join the throng, 

From stall and workshop gathered ! 
The lively barber skips along 

xVnd leaves a chin half lathered; *^ 

The smith has flung his hammer down, — 

The horseshoe still is glowing; 
The truant tapster at the Crown 

Has left a beer-cask flowing; 
The cooper's boys have dropped the adze, *^ 

And trot behind their master ; 
Up run the tarry ship-yard lads, — 

The crowd is hurrying faster, — 
Out from the Millpond's purlieus gush 

The streams of white-faced millers, ^^ 

And down their slippery alleys rush 

The lusty young Fort-Hillers ; 
The ropewalk lends its 'prentice crew, — 

The Tories seize the omen: 
''Ay, boys, you '11 soon have work to do 

For England's rebel foemen, 
' King Hancock,' Adams, and their gang, 

That fire the mob with treason, — 



55 



60 THE CRANE CLASSICS 

Wlien these we shoot and those we hang 



On — on to where the tea-ships ride! 

And now their ranks are forniinc:, — 
A rush, and up the Dartmouth's side 

The Mohawk band is swarming ! 
See the fierce natives ! What a glimpse ^^ 

Of paint and fur and feather, 
As all at once the full-grown imps 

Light on the deck together ! 
A scarf the pigtail's secret keeps, 

A blanket hides the breeches, — '^^ 

And out the cursed cargo leaps, 

And overboard it pitches! 

O woman, at the evening board 

So gracious, sweet, and purring. 
So happy while the tea is poured, '^^ 

So blest while spoons are stirring. 
What martyr can compare with thee, 

The mother, wife, or daughter, 
That night, instead of West Bohea, 

Condemned to milk and water ! *^ 

Ah, little dreams the quiet dame 

Who plies with rock and spindle 
The patient flax, how great a flame 

Yon little spark shall kindle ! 
The lurid morning shall reveal ^^ 

A fire no king can smother. 



THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY 61 

Where British flint and Boston steel 

Have clashed against each other ! 
Old charters shrivel in its track, 

His Worship's bench has crumbled, ^^ 

It climbs and clasps the union- jack, 

Its blazoned pomp is humbled. 
The flags go down on land and sea 

Like corn before the reapers; 
So burned the fire that brewed the tea ^^ 

That Boston served her keepers ! 

The waves that wrought a century's wreck 

Have rolled o'er Whig and Tory; 
The Mohawks on the Dartmouth's deck 

Still live in song and story; '^^^ 

The waters in the rebel bay 

Have kept the tea-leaf savor; 
Or.]' old Xorth-Enders in their spray 

Srill taste a Hyson flavor; 
.Viid freedom's teacup still o'erflows ^^^ 

^Vith ever fresh libations, 
To clioat of slumber all hor foes 

And cheer the wakeiiiiio' nations! 



62 THE CRANE CLASSICS 



m^IOlT A'NB LIBERTY. 

Flag of the heroes who left iis their glory, 

Borne through their battle-field's thunder and 
flame, 
Blazoned in song and illumined in story, 
Wave o'er us all who inherit their fame: 

Up with our banner bright, ^ 

Sprinkled with starry light. 
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, 
AVhile through the sounding sky 
Loud rings the Nation's cry, — 
LTnion and Liberty! One evermore! ^^ 

Light of our firmament, guide of our Xation, 

Pride of her children, and honored afar, 
Let the wide beams of thy full constellation 

Scatter each cloud that would darken n star I 
L^p with our banner bright, etc. ^^ 



Empire unsceptered ! what foe shall assail thee, 
Bearing the standard of Liberty's van ? 

Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee. 
Striving with men for the birthright of man! 
Up with our banner l)right, etc. 



20 



Yet, if by madness and treachei'v blighted. 

Dawns the diirk hour when tlie sword thou must 
draAv, 



UNION" AND LIBERTY 63 

Then with the arms of thy millions united, 
Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law ! 

Up with our banner bright, etc. ^^ 

Lord of the Universe ! shield us and guide us, 

Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun ! 
Thou hast united us, who shall divide us ? 
Keep us, oh, keep us the Many in One ! 

Up with our banner bright, ^° 

Sprinkled with starry light. 
Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore. 

While through the sounding sky 

Loud rings the Nation's cry, — 
Union and Liberty ! One evermore ! ^^ 



64 THE CEANE CLASSICS 



GOD SAVE THE FLAG! 

Washed in the blood of the brave and the blooming, 
Snatched from the altars of insolent foes, 

J3nrning Avith star-fires but never consuming, 
Flash its broad ribbons of lily and rose. 

Vainly the prophets of Eaiil would rend it, ^ 

Vainly his worshippers pray for its fall; 

Thousands have died for it, millions defend it, 
Emblem of justice and mercy to all : 

Justice that reddens the sky with her terrors, 

Mercy that comes with her white-handed train, '^ 

Soothing all passions, redeeming all errors, 
Sheathing the sal)re and breaking the chniii. 

IJorne on tlie deluge of old usurpations. 

Drifted our Ark o'er the desolate seas, 
r.oaring the rainbow of hope to the nations, '^^ 

Torn from the storm-cloud and flung to the ])reeze I 

God bless the Flag and its loyal defenders. 

While its broad folds oVr the battle-field wave. 

Till the dim star-wreath rekindle its s]^lendors, 

Washed from its stains in the blood of the brave I -^ 



FEEEDOM, OUR QUEEN 



FKEEDOM, OUE QUEEK 

Land where the banners wave last in the sim, 
Blazoned with star-clusters, many in one, 
Floating o'er prairie and mountain and sea; 
Hark ! 't is the voice of thy children to thee ! 

Here at thine altar our vows we renew 
Still in thy cause to be loyal and true, — 
True to thy flag on the field and the wave, 
Living to honor it, dying to save ! 

Mother of heroes ! if perfidy's blight 
Fall on a star in thy garland of light, 
Sound but one bugle-blast ! Lo ! at the sign 
Armies all panoplied wheel into line ! 

Hope of the world ! thou hast broken its chains, — 
Wear thy bright arms while a tyrant remains, 
Stand for the right till the nations shall own 
Freedom their sovereign, with Law for her throne ! 

Freedom! sweet Freedom! our voices resound. 
Queen by God's blessing, unsceptred, uncrowned ! 
Freedom, sweet Freedom, our pulses repeat. 
Warm with her life-blood, as long as they beat ! 

Fold the broad banner-stripes over her breast, — 
Crown her with star- jewels Queen of the West ! 
Earth for her heritage, God for her friend. 
She shall reign over us, world without end ! 
-5 



66 



10 



20 



66 THE CRANE CLASSICS 



THE LIVII^G TEMPLE. 

[This poem presupposes a knowledge of the human body through 
the study of its anatomy. Notice the figures used in describing it.] 

'Not in the world of light alone, 

Where God has built his blazing throne, 

E'or jet alone in earth below, 

With belted seas that come and go, 

And endless isles of sunlit green, ^ 

Is all thj Maker's glory seen: 

Look in upon thy wondrous frame, — 

Eternal wisdom still the same! 

The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves 

Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, ^^ 

A\Tiose streams of brightening purple rush, 

Fired with a new and livelier blush. 

While all their burden of decay 

The ebbing current steals away, 

And red with Nature's flame they start ^^ 

From the warm fountains of the heart. 

No rest that throbbing slave may ask, 

Forever quivering o'er his task. 

While far and wide a crimson jet 

Leaps forth to fill the woven net 20 

AVhich in unnumbered crossing tides 

The flood of burning life divides. 

Then, kindling each decaying part. 

Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. 

But warmed with that unchanging flame -^ 

Behold the outward moving frame, 

L.afO. 



30 



35 



THE LIVING TEMPLE 67 

Its living marbles jointed strong 
With glistening band and silvery thong, 
And linked to reason's guiding reins 
By myriad rings in trembling chains, 
Each graven with the threaded zone 
Which claims it as the master's own. 

See how yon beam .of seeming white 

Is braided out of seven-hued light, 

Yet in those lucid globes no ray 

By any chance shall break astray. 

Hark how the rolling surge of sound, 

Arches and spirals circling round. 

Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear 

With music it is heaven to hear. '*^ 

Then mark the cloven sphere that holds 

All thoughts in its mysterious folds, 

That feels sensation's faintest thrill. 

And flashes forth the sovereign will ! 

Think on the stormy world that dwells *^ 

Locked in its dim and clustering cells! 

The lightning gleams of power it sheds 

Along its hollow glassy threads ! 



60 



O Father ! grant thy love divine 

To make these mystic temples thine! 

^Vhen wasting age and wearying strife 

Have sapped the leaning walls of life, 

When darkness gathers over all, 

And the last tottering pillars fall, 

Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, ^^ 

And mould it into heavenly forms ! 



10 



68 Tin: OKANK CLASSICS 



'IMIK (MlAMllKKKD NArTlLFS. 

Tins is the ship of lu^irl, ^vhic'h, poets iVion, 

Sails (ho iinsh:ulo\vod main, — 

'V\\c vcMitin\ms hark that tlinus 
On {\\c s\vtH>t sunmuM- wiiul its piir[>l(\l \vings 
111 quit's onohantod, whiMV (ho siron sing-s, * 

Aiul ooral roofs Ho haro, 
W'htM-i^ tho ooKl soa-maids riso to sun tlioir stroaining hair 

Its wohs o{ living gau/.o no nu>ro nnt'url; 

WriH'kod is tho ship of poarl! 

Aiul ovorv ohaniborod ooll, 
\Vhoro its dim d roaming lifo was wont to dwell, 
As tho frail tenant sha]H\l his growing shell, 

Hi^foro thoo lits revealed, — 
Its irised eeiling rent, its sunless c'rvpt unsealed! 



Year after vear beheld the silent toil ^^ 

That spread his lustrous eoil ; 

Still, as the spiral grew. 
He loft the past year's dwelling for the new. 
Stole with soft step its shining archway through. 

Built up its idle door, -^^ 

Stvotoliod in his last-found home, and know the old no 
more. 

Thanks for the heavenly messagt^ brought by thee, 
Ohild of the wandering sea. 
Oast from her lap, forlorn ! 



THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS 69 

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 25 

Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! 

While on mine ear it rings, 
Throngh the deep caves of thought T hear a voice that 
sings: — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, 

As the swift seasons roll ! ^^ 

Leave thy low-vaulted past! 

Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 

Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast. 
Till thou at length art free. 

Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! ^^ 



DEC 7 1904 1 



